Not For Me
by Lady Akuma Wolf
Summary: "Oliver, don't! Not for me!" Her plea haunted him, days, weeks, after she spoke them to him, and it's tearing Oliver apart. He couldn't understand why. Eventually, he needs the truth, no matter that it's 2am. And what he finds out hurts him way more than her plea. TRIGGER WARNING: brief mentions of sexual assault, stronger mentions of cutting and self-harm. Post Clock King.


**Author's Notes:** Felicity's five words to Oliver when The Count really struck me, and this is the result. I do have a longer fanfic planned that could be seen as a continuance of this one.

**Trigger warning:** mentions of sexual assault, depression and cutting/self-harm. DO NOT READ if this is an issue for you!

Please Review!

Chapter One

Not For Me

"Oliver, don't! Not for me!"

Her words echoed hollowly in his mind, sharp and clear even hours, days, a week or two after she had spoken them in the office of Queen Consolidated. The Count had grown confident, holding those two syringes against her throat. That confidence killed him. But not soon enough. Not soon enough to stop The Count from kidnapping Felicity. From scaring her, from _touching_ her, and almost killing her. She had been willing to die at the hands of a madman to keep him from killing again. He knew she had come around from thinking it was ok he was killing, to understanding his point of view. But her _life_ was in danger, and she still tried to protect him. Even after she'd spoken those words, her eyes still urged him not to fire his weapon.

"Oliver, don't! Not for me!"

The entire showdown between himself and The Count kept playing and replaying in his head. When he had gone to Queen Consolidated to rescue Felicity, he had not expected to walk in on what he did; her being secured to a chair was it. The Count was hiding behind her, playing with her hair, and then… _touching her_, his hands sliding down past her collarbone as he mentioned wanting personal satisfaction. Oliver knew, he _knew_, The Count was attempting to wind him up, to anger him to the point he'd make a mistake. But Felicity's reaction, looking back, went beyond fear and disgust. There was also acceptance; she closed her eyes and held still, waiting for it to end. This was not the first time someone had touched her in such a manner without her permission. Oliver growled, throwing himself off the bed. This is what happened when he clamped down on his emotions so hard to keep them from effecting him; they came back to haunt him with a vengeance.

"Oliver, don't! Not for me!"

He didn't understand why she didn't think her life was worth him breaking her promise. Didn't she realize she mattered to Diggle, to _him_? Even Walter liked her. Not to mention she was a world-class young IT woman, with a job she loved. She was smart, beautiful, young, _loved_… why did she feel she didn't deserve to be fought for, to be saved?

Sitting down on the edge of his desk, Oliver ran his hands through his hair. In the year since he had returned and met Felicity, she had gone from some girl in his company's IT department whom he asked for help, to someone who knew his secret and helped him, to a friend and partner, to… what, he couldn't put to words. She gave him reasons to smile, to laugh. She accepted him, the scars on his body, and those ones harder to see. She wasn't afraid to stand up to him. Sometimes most of all, she was the reason he came back to himself, instead of falling into the darkness that the island and the events of those five years and infected him with. So why, then, would someone who had such a strong, unswerving faith in him of all people, give up on themselves?

Oliver's scowl deepened as he started to pace his room slowly, trying to recall any hint, anything, that would point to this… reaction. But he couldn't. Between the aftermath of the Undertaking, seeing Sara, The Dollmaker almost killing Laurel, and everything else including their recent facedown with Tockman, he had spared little attention to his blonde IT girl. He had noticed she seemed distant, jealous, even, of his attentions to both Laurel and Sara. But his past had mixed with his present, and he had gotten trapped in it, and didn't care. At least then. Now…

"Oliver, don't! Not for me!"

If not for her, then for whom? Did she think he wouldn't do it for her? Did she think she didn't matter to him anymore? If so why stay, why help with this mission? Was she trying to prove herself, to him, Sara, herself? He remembered Sara making so barbed comments to Felicity, which he had chuckled at and forgotten about. Even he had snapped at her more than once. And then she'd tried to join their fight against Tockman, and had gotten wounded for her risk-taking. He'd even talked to her about it, briefly, after she'd been shot. But surely, this, her words, her feelings… hadn't all stemmed from just those instances, had they?

"Oliver, don't! Not for me!"

He closed his eyes as he felt his heart constricting. No matter the flashes of emotions regarding Sara and Laurel that flared up from time to time at the most inconvenient moments, they were just that; flashes from the past. Felicity… she was the present. Diggle had pointed it out more than once… had his emotions for his blonde IT girl been that obvious? He just couldn't bare to act on them, not now, maybe not ever. She was already in so much danger just has his companion and friend. If she became… more, to him, it would just escalate further, and he couldn't stand the thought. Even keeping her at arm's length she still meant the world to him. He tried to show that when he could. And yet she had still given him that plea, still told him to not take the shot, to not break his promise to Tommy.

Told him she wasn't worth the shot.

"Oliver, don't! Not for me!"

A growl ripped its way out of this throat as he stalked over to his closet and threw the door open. He had to know, and it couldn't wait.

OoOoO

It took him longer than he thought to get her apartment, small and out of the way as it was. Two stories, on the end of a line of several doors with four stairs up from the pavement. The lights seemed to be off inside, and not wanting to wake her, he almost turned around.

"Oliver, don't! Not for me!"

Next thing Oliver knew, he was standing in front of her plain white door, fist raised to knock, and knock he did. It took a couple tries, but finally a light upstairs turned on, and he could her bare feel stomping down stairs before the door was flung open.

"What do you want, Mr. Queen? It's 2am!" She demanded, her voice hoarse. "Couldn't you have just called or texted if it was so important?"

Her hair was in a loose braid that hung over her shoulder as she leaned on the doorframe. She was clad in pale blue pajama pants, a white top and a thin gray sweatshirt. Dark circles hung under her eyes. Her eyes themselves were red and puffy. Her skin was even paler than usual, her face slightly gaunt.

Oliver frowned. "Felicity, what's wrong? Are you ok?"

She waved her hand absently. "Yeah, yeah. Just the flu, or something like it. Don't know how I got it since I got the flu vaccine. Though given some people still get it despite the shot despite the research …" she stopped herself. "I'll do my best to be at work in the morning. If not, remember you have a conference at 10am with the director of QC branch in Central City, and –" she paused, rubbing her head. "Oh what was it… oh yeah. Late lunch with Sara at 2:30pm. Beyond that you're clear. I'll let you know if I can make it or not."

She turned to go. Without thinking Oliver reached out and grabbed her wrist. Felicity froze rigidly, her voice catching. He let go of her as if he'd been burned, her reaction to him a sharp reminder of her reaction to The Count's touch. "Sorry," he whispered.

Felicity laughed and gave him a brilliant smile that didn't reach her eyes. "No, no. I'm sorry. You just startled me is all. If that's everything…?"

"Wait, Felicity please. I need to talk to you." Oliver asked, holding his hand out. "Please."

This time, she didn't meet his eyes. "What else is there to talk about, Oliver?"

Oliver sighed. "Do we really have to do this out here –"

"Yes." Felicity snapped. "What the hell is so damn important?!"

Cautiously, Oliver took a step closer to the door and reached for Felicity's hand. After a moment he said, "I need to know why…" he could barely repeat the words, her words, which continued to haunt him.

Felicity frowned at him. "Why what, Oliver? Spit it out."

Taking a deep breath, he said finally, "Why, when The Count had you, you told me not to take the shot."

She shrugged. "I knew he was trying to get you to try and kill him, and you'd turned to your whole new 'I'm not going to kill anyone' choice of path thing. Which is cool! I figured you could do it another way."

Oliver shook his head. "That is not what you said. You said, and I quote," he added, holding up a finger when she opened her mouth to interrupt him. They both noticed he was shaking. "You said, 'Oliver, don't! Not for me.'" Still shaking, Oliver reached up and touched her cheek. "I need to know, Felicity, why is it you said that to me?"

He could see a war happening behind her blue eyes, trying to decide what to say. After a moment she looked away before pulling her hand from his grasp. "I know it's important to you, your whole not killing plan," she said finally. "So important, that I knew it would hurt you, if you broke that promise to your friend, Tommy. Like I said that night, I didn't want you to have to make that choice because of me. And yes I know you said there was no choice," she added, seeing the argument forming on his lips. "But that is the truth."

"There is something else, Felicity. Something you're not telling me. What is it?"

"If I'm not telling you, then it's really none of your business, is it? Goodnight, Mr. Queen."

Before he could say another word, she slammed the door in his face and locked it. But she was still behind the door.

"Felicity!" he hissed as loud as he dared. "Felicity, open the door! Please!"

"Go home, Oliver," she said softly through the door, her forehead resting on the wood frame. "Go home, or to the lair, or the office, or wherever. Just leave. I'm sure there are important people you need to meet with. I don't feel good, just please leave me alone." I'm used to it, she added silently. I've been used to it for years.

Oliver blinked. Used to it? She had spoken the last part so softly he had barely caught it, though no doubt it wasn't meant for him to hear. "What do you mean, you're used to it?" he asked softly.

A muttered curse confirmed he'd heard correctly, and he hadn't been meant to hear it, but she didn't respond. Oliver leaned his forehead against the door. "I'm not leaving until you open the door and let me in, Felicity. We need to talk. I don't want there to be any issues between us."

"No, we don't need to talk, Oliver." Felicity retorted, but the fire was gone from her voice, leaving her sounding… lost. "What else there is is none of your concern. You still have your IT girl, for both jobs, though I doubt it'd be hard to find another. There _are_ others out there, you know. Better, faster, smarter… _stronger_," she stopped. "You're reading things that aren't there. Now please… please just leave me alone."

"Felicity…" Oliver whispered. Silence greeted him. Upon hearing her footsteps retreating, his louder, "Felicity!" but got no response.

Sighing heavily, he returned to his car. "Alright then we do this the hard way," he muttered, grabbing his bow and sheath of arrows from the back seat. His black coat got tossed into the now vacant back seat; underneath was his Arrow uniform and hood.

OoOoO

Scaling up the side of the apartment and into the spare room was one of the easiest break ins he'd done in a long time. Leaving his hood back once he made it into the room, Oliver walked slowly into the hall. Now that he'd gotten this far, he wasn't sure how to proceed.

"Breaking in after I asked up repeatedly to leave, Oliver? Or should I say, Arrow?" she glanced up from her bed. Her knees were drawn up to her chest, a sketchbook open against them.

"You didn't leave me much choice," he pointed out as he slowly entered the room. The decorations are simple enough. A generic bed and matching night stand, and a plain faux wood dresser was to his right. There were no photos, no little knick-knacks, nothing. But his attention was on the blonde curled up on the bed, her eyes part anger, part accusing… and part afraid.

The fear surprised him, making him stop halfway across the room. Until he knew what the fear was of, he didn't want to push the boundaries any more than he already had.

"Don't, Oliver! Not for me!"

The words echoed again. Oliver shook his head, deciding to just flat out ask. "You said, 'not for me'. Why do you think so little about yourself that you don't think I'd even try to save you? Forget the fact I killed him. Maybe there was a way I could've saved you without killing him, but you didn't even want me to even _try_! Why? Why is it that you don't think you matter?!"

"Because I don't."

Oliver stared at her, but she wasn't looking at him, but at her blank paper. "I mean, I matter to the point that I'm good at what I do, but I meant what I said downstairs. There are better out there. Maybe you should go recruit one of them. I'm sure some of them have fighting abilities as well, and… well are better at all of the computer-y stuff you need done. Someone who won't fail you."

"Hey," without even thinking about it, he finished crossing the room and sat on the edge of the bed. "You didn't fail me, Felicity. I know I snapped at you before, with Tockman… and that was unfair of me."

Felicity shook her head. "Don't try and take back the truth, Oliver. He was, is, better than I am, and in that I failed you. I'm willing to admit that. Why aren't you?"

"Do you think my failure to kill Malcom because he was stronger than I am was my fault?"

"No! No, and you're working on becoming stronger so that doesn't happen next t –" she stopped, seeing the trap he'd sprung on her. "Still… that's different. You're allowed to make mistakes."

Oliver cocked his head. "And you're not?" When she didn't respond, he asked softly, "Your feeling like you don't matter… this doesn't just have to do with things related to the Arrow, does it, Felicity?"

Her body going rigid was enough of an answer. Inwardly Oliver frowned, watching her body start to shake as she tried not to cry, her eyes fixed on her comforter on the other side of the bed, but elsewhere at the same time. Wanting to draw her back to the present, he gently touched her cheek.

If he had thought her reaction downstairs had been concerning, her flinching away from him this time was deeply troubling. She mumbled an apology, still refusing to look at him, or relax her body. Taking her in, Oliver realized her body was curled, as if expecting an attack… or a beating.

At that moment, everything clicked together, the dots connected themselves into a picture he hated. Her reaction to The Count touching her, to his rage, to the times he'd accidently startled her, at the office or the lair. Fury raced through his veins, clouding his thoughts and vision. Fists clenched he fought to get it under control, not wanting to scare Felicity any more than he already had. Taking a deep breath, he let it out, forcing the rage back under control. And he would have managed it if he hadn't glanced down at her night stand. A shiny, new, sharp razorblade sat there, glinting up at him. The rein he'd gotten on his anger snapped.

"Felicity, what the _hell_ is this?!" He grabbed it off the table, his whole body vibrating with fury. "You're hurting yourself?! Why?! Why are you doing this to yourself?! Tell me!"

As soon as he spoke, Felicity threw herself off the opposite side of the bed, the sketchbook flying from her lap. Shaking, she pressed herself into the far corner, her hands held up protectively in front of her. "Please, Oliver don't!" she cried. "Please I'm sorry! I didn't use it recently I swear! Please don't be mad, please!"

Angrily, Oliver threw the blade back onto the table and jumped to his feet. "Tell. Me. _Why_." He ground out.

"Because it helps," Felicity whispered, her hands still raised in front of her. "It takes the pain away. Sometimes, it all just gets to be too much inside to deal with. Using that… lets it drain away."

Slowly, Oliver strode around the bed with measured steps towards his blonde IT girl. It tore at his heart, hearing her admit to hurting herself rather than talking to him, or Diggle, or someone, at least, instead of doing… _that_. But what hurt him more was knowing with his words, he probably had been a part of the reason she had done that to herself. Never again.

When he stood a mere two feet from Felicity, Oliver watched her shaking, shielding herself, pressed into the corner. "Please, Oliver…" she begged, sliding to the floor. "Please..."

As slowly as he could bare, Oliver crouched down in front of her, and even more slowly reached for her hands, taking them in his own with one hand and reaching for her face with the other. Even though he expected it, her flinch still hurt. "_Felicity_," he said gently, "I am not going to, nor will I ever willingly hurt you in _any way_." He stroked her cheek, wiping away tears from eyes that now stared into his, gauging him, weighing his words, until finally, _finally_, she let him pull her into his arms.

"I'm sorry," she cried into his shoulder as Oliver stroked her hair. "Just, everything that's going on has me rattled, and the memories… they're coming back and sometimes they too strong for me to fight. Oliver, I'm sorry I'm so weak…"

"Hey, hey," Oliver pulled back enough to meet her eyes. "You're not weak. Everyone has battles, and scars, and darkness inside. Just… please, don't deal with yours that way anymore. I'm here for you, so is Diggle. Talk to us, or a professional. Talk to someone." He tipped her chin up until she met his gaze. "Promise me, Felicity."

She shook her head. "I can't, not right now, Oliver," she told him softly. "I can barely deal with it in my head. Putting it to words…" she shook her head. "It's why I draw, sometimes. But other times it isn't enough."

Oliver pulled her back into his arms. "When you're ready, then. At least promise me you won't do… that… anymore."

Her response took longer than he liked, and when it came, was not the one he wanted. "I'll try, Oliver. But… I can't promise anything."

He held onto her tighter. "At least promise me you'll try, Felicity. Please. I don't want you going through this alone."

"Like you do?" the quick retort sounded more like the Felicity he knew, but her involuntary flinch in his arms right afterwards wasn't. He sighed. "This is a 'do as a say, not as I do' argument," he said finally, getting a soft chuckle from the blonde in his arms. "But I will try, if you try."

"Deal."

Oliver stood up, gathering Felicity in his arms before setting her gently back on her bed. She drew her legs up to her chest once more and cautiously watched him stalk around her bed and snatch up the blade before pocketing it.

"I'm taking that," he said as he sat back down. "And I want to hear you promise me, Felicity. Promise me you will fight tooth and nail to not relapse. That you will talk to someone, whether it's me, Diggle, a friend, a doctor… someone." He cupped her cheek. "Please, promise me." He pleaded.

Felicity sighed before covering his hand with her own. "I promise I will try my hardest, if you do."

He smiled. "I promise."


End file.
